with your pitchfork tongue, you licked your lips and lied
by uncaringerinn
Summary: No living soul will bear the brunt of Loki's tricks for some time, including Sigyn herself. Loki/Sigyn.


Sigyn watches with nauseous resignation as the first stitch is knotted in place.

Her husband struggles, kneeling and bound in heavy chains as thick, muscled arms render his head immobile. Tears leak from the corners of wicked green eyes, pained whimpers squeeze through clenched teeth.

Sigyn's heart swells.

 _He deserves this,_ she tells herself, _this is his penance, and he has earned every bit of it._

The process is torturously slow. With each stitch the needle must be rethreaded, then held in burning heat before it presses through the trembling flesh of her husband's lips.

In the end, it takes eight stitches to silence the silver tongue of the god of mischief. The sons of Ivaldi take great pride in their work, every pass of the needle is perfect, every knot of thread sturdy and firm. No living soul will bear the brunt of Loki's tricks for some time, including Sigyn herself.

Those who witness her husband's punishment do not stay long after the act is completed. In almost single file, they leave the chamber, somber and silent. Exactly as they should.

Only when they are completely alone does she approach him, his knees pressed to the floor and still restrained in chains. His head hangs low, and she can hear the stilted sound of his breathing.

She stands before him, dressed in his own green and gold, "Look at me," she says in a voice that would make hearts bleed. She demands his attention, and he has no where to go, no choice but to obey her.

(Though, he will always gaze upon her like one looks at the sun. No one, not ever, will capture his attention in the manner that she has.)

Loki's lashes are wet when his pretty eyes drift up, and her hands come up to hold his jaw. Spit and blood drip like a leak down his chin, splatter against the stone of the floor. Pain etches its way across his striking features, sends the salt of his tears to nuzzle into the fresh wounds of his lying mouth. Her thumbs sweep lovingly over his cheeks before grazing gently over the mess of his lips, but he rears back in a snarl of gnashed teeth; the action causing tender flesh to pull against unyielding thread. Her husband hunches over in almost-muted agony, anguished groan seeping through lips-sewn-shut.

This reaction does not deter her. She reaches out once more, hands slipping back to cradle his skull, fingers lacing together in hair blacker than ink, softer than silk.

"I know it hurts," she murmurs, the ooze of his punctured skin draws her bright eyes like an insect to flame, "But you have brought this upon yourself." Her fingers bunch into fists, knuckles digging against his scalp, hair pulled taut at the roots, "I feel no sympathy for you." There is a heavy pause as the last words are pulled from her reluctant throat, "You deserve this," spoken aloud this time, fierce and tinged with barely-there conviction.

The rasp of his labored breathing cloys her senses and she is not prepared when his hands lunge out, clutch in the front of her gown to yank her to her knees. Metallic scrapes fill the air as raw, shackled wrists jerk heavy chains.

In that hollow, crypt of a room, Sigyn looks on helplessly as the vibrant green of his eyes drown her in a world she has never known.

This time when his lips arch back from bloody teeth, constrained by the stitches that bind them, he does not flinch. There is nothing but wickedness in the look of his face as his mouth shapes a word that she has only ever known to be him, and him alone:

 _"Liar."_

* * *

[AN: loki doesn't have his lips sewn shut in the comics, as far as i know, (or as far as my father knows since he's the marvel nerd), so this story line is borrowed from the mythology aspect. that being said, i write for fun and i study biology so i am in no way an expert in norse mythology. besides researching the basic background of the story of loki having his lips sewn shut, i remain wholly ignorant, but i am hoping (maybe?) that my complete and utter ignorance is not evident in the nonsense i have written above.

(title taken from The Rising Tide, by The Killers.)]


End file.
